


Voices in the Wind

by Luzula



Category: due South
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Podfic Available, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-12
Updated: 2007-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wind is speaking to Caroline.</p><p>This story is also available as <a href="http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/voices-in-the-wind">podfic</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a line in Keerawa's thought-provoking snippet [Absence](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_snippets/58189.html), and since she generously [invites](http://keerawa.livejournal.com/33034.html) people to write stories based on her work, I wrote this. Thanks to Zabira for betaing for me! Also thanks to Nos4a2no9 who encouraged me to try writing longhand--it worked. The song Caroline sings is a Scottish ballad called "The Bonnie House of Airlie", you can find an old version of it [here](http://www.contemplator.com/child/airlie.html), and a more modern one [here](http://www.lyred.com/lyrics/Kate+Rusby/The+Girl+Who+Couldn't+Fly/Bonnie+House+of+Airlie/) (unfortunately full of typos). Yes, witness again my fascination with folk songs.

Caroline braces herself, feet firmly planted in the trampled-down snow, and brings the axe crashing down, breaking the ice that had formed over the water-hole in the creek. Last night was cold and clear, and the ice is thicker than usual. She fills two pails--it is easier to balance with one in each hand--and walks along the path back to the cabin. The snow is high along the edges of the path, almost up to her hips.

She smiles at the sight of Benton, who is lying on his back and moving his arms up and down in the snow, making the shape of an angel. The shape is rather chubby, since he is bundled up in thick furs, mittens, scarves and a hat until only his eyes and his red little nose are visible. Still smiling, Caroline sets the pails down by the door, and goes to fetch firewood at the shed.

"Mom, can I help?" Benton comes running after her, snow caught all over his clothing. She brushes some of it off absently.

"Of course. You can put firewood in the basket." She takes the axe and chops kindling with small, precise movements.

"Can I do that?"

"No, you're not old enough. Sharp tools can be dangerous."

He looks a little sulky, but brightens when she lets him carry one end of the basket on the way back. Caroline stamps her feet and brushes the snow off Benton with the broom standing beside the door. He pulls his outdoor clothing off, layer after layer, while Caroline puts firewood in the stove and coaxes the embers to life. Dusk is falling outside the window, and she lights the lamp over the kitchen table before she begins to cook the hare she'd found in one of her traps this morning.

Robert is due back tomorrow, and as always, the thought of Robert is complicated. They were deeply in love when they married, and she had thought that would be enough. But the loneliness at his constant absence has slowly twined itself around her heart. Endurance is not the issue--Caroline is northern born and bred, and knows the hold of winter on the land, and how to live with it.

She chops carrots with automatic motions while her mind wanders, and tilts the chopping board to let them slide into the stew. Sometimes she envies Buck. When she first met them, he and Robert were rivals, competing for a place in her heart. Now, they are the ones who wake up together and share their everyday lives. Not in the way she and Robert do when they meet, of course, but Buck has more of his time.

Or duty does. She isn't sure how to see it.

Leaving the stew to cook, she looks over at Benton. He's intent on drawing something on a piece of paper, and she almost goes over and tousles his dark messy hair, but she doesn't want to break his concentration. Benton is often like this, he can sit for hours playing with sticks and stones, or making snowmen. Caroline wonders whether this is his nature, or if it's something he does because there are no other children to play with here.

She sits down on the sofa, wraps herself in a blanket and picks up her knitting, finishing a row of knit stitches and beginning on the purl stitches of the next row. The thick wool yarn slides through her fingers in rhythmic stops and starts. After a while, Benton looks up, and she puts the knitting aside. Bringing his drawing along, he sits down on the sofa beside her. The drawing is of a sled dog, clearly recognizable as Robert's lead dog.

"That's very nice, Benton."

"It's Suka," he says proudly.

"Yes, I can see that. She has the black mark on the side of her head. Are you hungry? I think dinner is ready."

They eat the stew with the appetite that work and cold weather brings. She's running out of butter and flour; Henderson should be by in a few days with the mail, and supplies for her. Maybe there'll be a letter from her sister.

After dinner, Benton lies down on the sofa with his head in her lap, and she strokes his hair. Clearing her throat, she sings in a low voice.

_It fell on a day, a bonnie, bonnie day  
When the corn grew green and yellow  
That there fell out a great dispute  
Between Argyle and Airlie..._

When the last verse is finished, Benton's chest rises and falls regularly under her hand. She listens to the low whine of the wind around the corner of the house, and the crackle of the fire. In the window, she sees her own reflection, a little distorted in the uneven glass.

Caroline turns her head sharply as the sound of the wind changes--it is speaking to her. It could be her imagination, but she knows better, although it's only a murmur now, on the edge of understanding. Carefully she stands, slipping a pillow under Benton's head and tucking the blanket more securely around him. Pulling her boots and heavy parka on, she steps out the door, closing it carefully behind her. Caroline stares into the night. Even as a child, she was never afraid of the dark.

_Snow will fall, and lie unswept. _

The wind rises, biting sharply into her face and chilling her hands. The voices have helped her, sometimes. Before Benton's birth, they warned her that the labor would start early.

_The fire on the hearth will die, and no one light it again. _

Caroline shivers with the cold, but stays.

_Friend will turn to foe, and never turn back. _

It's a warning, but she doesn't know how to heed it. In the north, one is dependent on one's friends and neighbors, but clearly she can't turn to one of them for help in this. She'll have to wait until Robert comes home. Caroline turns and goes inside, closing the door against the cold and sliding the lock into place. Benton is sitting up in his nest of blankets, looking bewildered. "Mom?"

"I'm here. Don't worry."

"I heard something."

"It's only the wind," she says, gathering him into her arms, her cold cheek against his warm one. "Let's go to bed."

"Okay. I just need to go to the outhouse."

"I'll go with you."

He looks a little affronted. "I can go by myself."

She shakes her head. "Not tonight."

Caroline lights the lantern, and they walk the short path to the outhouse. She waits outside in the circle of light, straining to hear something, but the wind is simply the wind now. On the way back, Benton stops short.

"Mom, why is the snow red?"

A chill runs through her, and she turns. Nothing. The snow lies white and untouched.

"It's only the glow of the lantern."

"No, I saw it," he insists.

"Let's go inside." She puts her hand on his shoulder and hurries him to the door.

Benton has his own bed, but tonight he sleeps with her. She wraps her arms fiercely around his small warm body. She can be strong, for him. Nothing will harm him. _Over my dead body._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lost Voices (Blood On The Snow Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/39331) by [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan)




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